


Fael Amrûn

by Esteliel



Series: Anestel Universe [7]
Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: BDSM, Enemas, Fisting, Kink, M/M, Mpreg, On Hiatus, dubcon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-03-06
Updated: 2011-08-28
Packaged: 2017-10-16 03:46:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/168077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esteliel/pseuds/Esteliel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Legolas and Glorfindel return to Imladris to continue to explore the depths of love, passion, desire - but also to teach other compassion and forgiveness. Legolas has made allies among Glorfindel's men, but will their support and his Lord's obvious love for him be enough to sway the hearts of most of the inhabitants of the valley of Imladris?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by Beruthiels Cat, thank you! *hugs*
> 
> [](http://s127.photobucket.com/albums/p134/Esteliel/?action=view&current=faelamrun.jpg)   
> 

The Hithaeglir rose to their left; lofty, ragged tips dipped in the white of ice and snow and clouds, though before them was spread the verdant tapestry of spring: bright, green grass dappled here and there with the white of niphredil and the yellow of primrose. Spring had come early this year, and though according to the calendar it was yet _echuir_ , the time of Stirring, weeks of sunshine and mild temperatures had brought forth a first blossoming before the beginning of the new year.

Glorfindel hoped to arrive in Imladris well before Yestarë. The first day of the year was always celebrated with good food and wine, song and dance, and he would not want to miss it – not when the valley had missed its lady for so many seasons already and not when it would be the first time he would celebrate the beginning of the year with Legolas. One year past, so shortly after Gîl's birth, he had still been weak and spent most time in bed, trying to regain his strength. Even had it been different, Glorfindel admitted to himself, he had not spent much thought on Legolas then and probably would not even have considered celebrating the year's first day with him.

He looked towards where Legolas rode, near the front of their group for the present since they were still in peaceful territory, close by Laindir's side and by the looks of it deep in an animated conversation. Legolas was beautiful – had always been beautiful, but now that each day saw him slowly regain some of the confidence the past had torn from him, Glorfindel only felt his appreciation grow while damning himself for his own misdeeds. Legolas sat his horse with ease and confidence, his back straight, his face warmed by a smile. His hair was held from his face by two simple braids while the rest of the silken mass streamed down his back. At the moment, he looked no different than any other youth his age. The clothes he wore were simple, yet of a fine quality: a shirt of dark linen and over it, a short-sleeved tunic of fine, thin wool dyed a pale brown. Legolas had taken off the fur-lined cloak Glorfindel had given him before they left Imladris, for the spring sun shone with amazing strength, although it was rolled up and fastened to his saddle to be in easy reach should the weather change. Around his waist was girded the sword Glorfindel had given him, as well as the knife that had been a gift from his men; and on his back he carried the bow of golden mallorn wood.

The image was deceptive, Glorfindel knew. Beneath the veil of happiness and confidence were the same old fears and doubts which would not be vanquished by a few gifts and kind words. And yet, this vision of Legolas was irresistible; a vision of the man he should have been – _would_ have been, had it not been for the actions of Thranduil and himself.

“What does he look like to you?” Glorfindel asked, wistfulness in his voice as he acknowledged Arwen's approach with a nod. “He is truly not so different from your brothers, when they were his age...”

“Are the rumors I heard true, then?”

“All of them – and worse,” Glorfindel admitted, watching how the wheaten hair danced in a light breeze. “Look at him. How could I hurt him, knowing how vulnerable he was? Knowing how alone he was? Yet hurt him I did, in such ways... Ah, if ever you saw me as exemplary, then know now that I have committed crimes against him as foul as anything the Enemy could think of.”

“You are no Morgoth Bauglir,” Arwen spoke unflinchingly, “nor are you Sauron the Deceiver. You do not lack empathy or mercy; indeed I have always known your strength to be tempered with compassion. Your crime is of a different sort; no great evil wrought before our time, but simply that which taints all those who deal in death and pain while denying the effect it has on the _fëa_. Have I not observed its effect in my own brothers? Hate begets hate, Glorfindel, no matter its reason.”

“You spoke out against this hate before, and I did not listen.” The admission pained Glorfindel. “Neither did Elrond, or your brothers. Now I see that you were right – but it does not change what I did. Nothing can; that is my burden to bear. And when we arrive at home, you will see for yourself just how I wronged him. He is almost universally reviled there – _and I invited it!_ Do not be deceived by how he was treated in Lórien, by how he has managed to win himself a small place among my men. That is not how it was at home for him at all. He had no friends, no allies, and was an easy victim for all the hate and cruelty fostered by this conflict between our people.

“I encouraged it; I freely admit it. I am not proud of what I did at all. But if you still feel affection for me despite what I did, then I beg you to think kindly of him, to be his ally here where most still feel hate for him, although he never did anything to invite it. I do not ask for pity, for he does not deserve that, but I know you are compassionate, Arwen. Do not let others sway your opinion of him.”

“You were the hero of my childhood.” Arwen held his gaze even when Glorfindel flinched. “Perhaps it is only natural that such high expectations will lead to disappointment, but ah, Glorfindel – to see even _you_ sink to such base depths? What then, is the difference between us and _yrch_ if not compassion, empathy, mercy? You always treat me courteously but I am no child, Glorfindel. I know, as all the valley does, that your desires are harsher than those of most others. And yet, what you did to Legolas went far beyond that. To think that my brothers encouraged you, when our own mother...”

She broke off and shook her head, fighting to keep her composure while Glorfindel could only look at her, stabbed by sudden heartbreak when he realized that Legolas had indeed suffered much like her mother had.

“I have no words with which to defend myself,” he said, his voice breaking. “It is the truth, all of it. And yet I love him.”

“As he loves you. I can see this. And you were given a child, Glorfindel. You know what a great gift that is. Do not squander it, I beg you. Already we have lost so much to this enmity. But perhaps, with you to lead the way, even Elladan might in time find it in himself to forgive and forget...”

Her smile was wistful, as if she herself could not quite believe it might come to pass and Glorfindel sighed, knowing all too well how deeply Elladan's heart was ensnared by the thorny tendrils of bitterness and hate. And yet, had not he, too, at last realized where the path he was treading led?

~~~

The stars spread above them that night, brilliant and bright against the darkness of the sky, for the moon had waned to a thin sliver. One of Arwen's handmaidens had Gîl on her lap and was pointing out the constellations to him, together with the stories that went with them while Glorfindel nursed the single cup of wine he allowed himself while journeying. They had eaten well that eve; a barley stew flavored with the meat of three fat rabbits which Legolas and Laindir had managed to trap during the past night.

“We have put out snares again. Maybe there will be fresh meat tomorrow also.” Legolas sat down at Glorfindel's side, who lifted his cloak and wrapped it around the youth's shoulders as well.

“That would be very welcome. I much prefer it to the dried stock we brought.” He smoothed one hand over Legolas' hair, brushing aside a leaf that had caught in it and then entwined his fingers within the silken mass, just for the pleasure of it. Legolas took the cup of wine when he offered it, taking a cautious swallow, for the heavy, oaken reds Glorfindel preferred were not quite to his taste though he loved the intimacy of sharing his Lord's cup. He returned the cup afterward and smiled when Glorfindel sought out his lips instead.

“It always tastes much sweeter on your lips,” Glorfindel murmured, and Legolas, eyes gleaming with the reflection of flames from the fire, leaned in to claim another kiss, despite their company.

Glorfindel turned his head so that his breath teased against Legolas' ear. “Were we at home, do you know what I would do to you now?” He chuckled at the soft sigh his words produced, and then cursed, for he was tormenting himself as much as Legolas. He could not very well have his way with him right in front of Arwen and her maidens, and yet, oh how he longed to bury himself inside that sweet body, feel Legolas' reaction to the pleasure he could give him and that intoxicating, unconditional surrender that never failed to rouse his own desires...

“Where did you put our bedrolls, Lord? Certainly not next to the Lady Arwen?” Legolas asked softly, throwing her a furtive glance. When he found himself unobserved, he used the cover of the voluminous cloak to rest one hand on Glorfindel's thigh, slowly inching upwards until he could feel Glorfindel's girth pressing against the confines of his breeches.

Glorfindel could not suppress a low chuckle. “Eager for me?” He covered Legolas' hand with his own and held it in place for a moment, letting Legolas feel how his touch roused him to further hardness. And then those slender, agile fingers sought out the shape of his shaft and began to slowly massage him so that he closed his eyes for a moment, biting back a curse, a moan.

“ _Truly_ eager for me then. Fear not, I will remember – all of it, _roch neth_. And do not forget that it is your sweet little bottom that will suffer for it, once we are back home...”

Now it was Legolas who almost moaned at his words and then, with a rueful expression, pulled back. “I am sorry, Lord. I know I should not tease you...”

“I want you just as much as you want me. If we were anywhere else...”

For a moment, Glorfindel played with the thought of taking Legolas into the little copse of woods that bordered their camp to the west, to take Fairion with them to keep watch while he would push Legolas against a tree, take him like that, hard and fast to sate the niggling desire...

“Go to bed,” he said almost gently, though it was unmistakably an order. Legolas flushed at his tone, bit his full lips and trembled ever so slightly, so that Glorfindel's own lust was fanned to a new height.

“Go. I will bring Gîl.”

He watched as Legolas obeyed, wishing those still gathered around the fire a good night as he went, flushing again with pleasure when his wish was returned with genuine warmth and affection. Legolas' hesitant joy at finding himself accepted by Glorfindel's company woke his more tender side, the part of him that desired to protect, to guide and care for someone. The gleam of his hair in the firelight, the elegance of the slender body in turn roused a darker hunger, the need to bend that body to his will, to give Legolas pleasure or pain as he pleased and have the youth accept all of it.

After a moment, Glorfindel said his good-nights as well, collecting Gîlríon from Arwen's circle of friends. The journeying, as well as the stories by the fire had made him tired, and he fell asleep against Glorfindel's shoulder before they had even reached their bedrolls.

Legolas lay beneath their blanket. He had taken off the tunic, though he still wore the soft shirt, and Glorfindel gave him a quick smile as he laid Gîl to rest in easy reach of Legolas' arms. Then he too stripped until he stood before Legolas in naught but his shirt, slipping beneath the blanket to take the youth into his arms.

“Were we at home now, _roch neth_ , your pretty behind would be striped red,” he murmured. “See what you did to me...”

He took Legolas' hand and drew it down, pressed it to his shaft that was still hard from his earlier teasing. Legolas' fingers curled around him again and the youth bit back a soft moan. “Oh, Lord,” he breathed, “I want you in my mouth!”

Glorfindel laughed softly. “I want to be inside you, _roch neth_ \- take you so deep, so hard that you will not be able to walk for a week. I think that is the first thing I will do when we are home. Take my pleasure from you, past what you think is bearable, until you have learned once and for all that your place is to give me pleasure, nothing else.”

Legolas' breath hitched at Glorfindel's words and he closed his eyes, trying to keep from rubbing himself against his Lord's thigh like an animal in heat. But oh, those terrible, mind-melting words his Lord said made him want to spread himself out like an offering, beg for his Lord to use him right here at the fire, if that was what he wanted...

Legolas tried to hold back a moan when Glorfindel's warm, sword-calloused hand wrapped around the both of them. He raised his head, knowing that if Glorfindel did not kiss him he _would_ moan, whimpering against Glorfindel's mouth when he was obliged.

It was too good, it was _always_ too good and yet it was not enough; not when his body was aflame with the need to be completely possessed, completely vanquished.

He broke the kiss when he came, panting his pleasure against Glorfindel's throat, his own climax heightened by the way Glorfindel throbbed and spurted against him. His mouth was taken again then, gentler, though just as possessively, and when Glorfindel finally released his lips, he pressed his hand to his mouth, fingers stained by their mingled seed, and allowed Legolas to clean him.

“Just wait until we are home, _roch neth_ \- I have so much left to teach you. The depths, the heights I can take you to...” Legolas shuddered deeply, remembering those moments of deepest surrender at Glorfindel's hands, yearning for it again with a blind, bone-aching need.

“The flogger, Lord,” he whispered, his trembling intensifying though they both knew it was not from fear. “The flogger of black leather, the one Haldir bought – will you use it on me?” His eyes were dark and wide with surrender, seeing only Glorfindel, who gently cupped his face in his hands.

“I will, _roch neth_... I will. In my own time.” He brushed the pad of his thumb across Legolas' lower lip, watching with breathless hunger how Legolas' lips parted to allow it to slip inside. “There is much I long to do to you. And in time, you will take that flogger too, and I will turn your back into an artwork of hot, red lines while you cry out your surrender.”

Legolas sighed his agreement, so sweetly yielding in his arms that Glorfindel once more cursed the proximity of Arwen and her maidens, and when Legolas sank into reverie at last, sleep continued to elude Glorfindel for a while as his mind tormented him with visions of the youth's unquestioning, worshipful submission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _fael amrûn_ – the brilliance of sunrise  
>  _echuir_ – stirring (one of the six seasons of the elvish calendar)  
>  _Yestarë_ [Quenya] – the first day of the year; according to Boris Shapiro around March 29 of our calendar  
>  _roch neth_ \- colt


	2. Chapter 2

Far, far to the east, the sea of green and black that was his father's forest spread further than the eye could see. How long had it taken him to cross the plains and hills until he reached the Hithaeglir? Legolas could not remember – all he remembered was shame and despair, and the grief that had made his bones ache as if ice were running through his veins.

No, they would have traveled quickly; as fast as his father's best messengers, Legolas thought numbly. He had not been able to spare any thought for danger then. He had ridden west, making for the dip between two mountains where the _Cirith Forn en Andrath_ ran, the High Pass that was supposed to lead close to the hidden valley of Imladris. In retrospect, Legolas wondered that he had made it at all. Perhaps the Valar had indeed held their hand over him during that terrible journey.

“Can you see it, Gîl?” he asked and pointed to the east. “That forest in the distance? That is where I used to live. That is the realm of your grandfather.”

“Will we visit there, too?” Gîl asked, and Legolas shook his head.

“No, my heart. We are not welcome there. But it is a wonderful forest, with many secret, beautiful places where the water runs deep and still and the light falls golden through the leaves. Maybe one day we will be allowed to visit it.”

Glorfindel reined in by his side then and followed their gaze to the east. Legolas thought that he knew what his Lord was thinking – the vision they had seen in the Lady's Mirror that had shown him leading a large group of his father' people out of the forest. They had not talked much about the visions yet. There had been so much to do in preparing for their departure, and now on the road it was difficult to find any privacy. Yet Legolas knew Glorfindel had not forgotten. They would talk about it again once they were home, he feared, when they would also return to their usual routine of ending the day.

The worst thing, he thought miserably, was that he was not even truly dreading it, but looked forward to it with equal amounts of shame and relief.

Surrendering to Glorfindel – not just his body, but also his very soul with all his fears and insecurities – meant that Glorfindel took the burden of doubt and shame from his shoulders. It was still nerve-wracking to trust another so completely; yet he had never felt as good as the times in Lórien during which his Lord had daily soothed his fears.

“Maybe one day we shall visit the forest together,” Glorfindel said, following Legolas' gaze to the east. “Your childhood home will always stay with you. It is not something you ever forget.”

“Home is where _you_ are, Lord,” Legolas said softly. It was the truth – _Imladris_ was home now, not the Greenwood. And there were places there that indeed felt like home: his Lord's suite of rooms; his spacious, private gardens. Still, could Imladris ever become a true home for him? Could he ever feel as if he belonged in a place where he was almost universally disliked and unwanted?

“Home is where you and Gîl are,” Glorfindel confirmed; his eyes unseeing for a moment as his thoughts carried him far away to the west. “One day, I hope I can show you the home of _my_ childhood. There are horses there; space to ride and run, and fertile earth... But for now, we will give our Gîl a good childhood home of his own.”

Legolas pressed a kiss to Gîl's hair, and then with one last look at the distant trees a part of his heart could not help but yearn for, they rode on.

~~~

Legolas had tried to suppress all thought of how they might be received in Imladris. He wondered if a messenger would have brought news of their betrothal to Elrond, and what the reaction might be. He feared it would be much like his brother's reaction had been, and yet to continually worry about what terrible things might happen was tiring. Legolas did his best to not think of the future at all, but to simply enjoy what was left of their journey.

They met two scouts as they slowly made their way downwards again, shortly after they left the snow and ice of the High Pass behind. Legolas wondered what they thought – they seemed to stare at him with unusual scrutiny; but was that not what he always thought, often without reason?

They did not ask any questions about him, but instead, after a short discussion with Glorfindel, turned their horses and sped back down the narrow trail that led from the High Pass to the hidden valley of Imladris.

The scouts would bring word of their imminent arrival, Legolas thought – and perhaps also that Glorfindel had indeed betrothed himself to their enemy's son. Messengers must have brought the first news of the change between them soon after the feast in Lórien, and he could imagine what the reaction had been. Still, did he not have Glorfindel's promise that he had nothing to fear?

Doubt and shame and the deep, embarrassing need for approval warred within him for much of the way. He only found peace once they settled down for the night in a small hut built for the comfort of scouts and travelers. As usual, Glorfindel's presence drove away all worry, and when his Lord touched a slowly healing piercing and whispered into his ear that the next night, they would have the comfort of their own bed again, Legolas suddenly looked forward to entering Imladris.

That changed once they actually approached the valley the next day. As the sound of the numerous waterfalls grew louder, Legolas' heartbeat sped up, and his grip on Gîlríon tightened a little. As if he felt his misgivings, Glorfindel slowed Asfaloth so that they entered Imladris side by side. Legolas tried to sit straight and to calm his mind, glad once more for the many gifts his Lord had given him.

He wore breeches of fine, pale doeskin and a heavily embroidered tunic of a green silk that shimmered and seemed to change color in the sunlight. On his breast gleamed Finrod's yellow diamond, the gift the Lady of Light had given him. The heavy, fur-lined cloak of blue wool fell from his shoulders onto Lainiell's back, and – most important of all – a ring of silver gleamed on his finger, proof once and for all that he was not the same Legolas who had left Imladris as little more than Glorfindel's plaything.

Even though he was nervous and feared what their reception would be, he knew he looked like a true prince now, and he felt like a person of worth – as if the kindness his Lord's men and Arwen had shown him had proved his deepest fears to be untrue.

Spring had come to Imladris while they had been away. A tree stood in flower and showered them with white, fragrant petals as they passed beneath it; the grass that had been sparse and yellow after the long winter was now a bright, fresh green. It seemed as if at every turn, color had sprung up, changing the valley. Instead of snow, flowers had taken over, gleaming yellow and red, violet and blue, so that despite his fears, Legolas' heart opened to embrace the beauty of the valley that was now his home.

As they rode up into the courtyard where the valley's inhabitants seemed to have gathered in full, Legolas prayed that the hearts of its people might have changed alongside nature, though he knew that such a thing was nearly impossible.

They rode at the head of their little cavalcade. Legolas would have loved nothing better than being able to hide at the back among Glorfindel's men, but his Lord would not allow such a thing. And of course Legolas knew that he rode in a place of honor, at his Lord's side as was his right as his betrothed. Fortunately for him, it was Arwen who drew all attention when she forced her horse forward, cantering over the stone of the courtyard until she was able to embrace her father at last.

“You were sorely missed. It has been far too long!” Elrond kissed her cheek and held her in his arms for a moment before he reluctantly let her go so that she could embrace her brother as well.

“Glorfindel,” he then continued and clasped his shoulder in greeting. “Thank you for returning her safely. I hope the journey was uneventful?”

“No sight of orcs in the High Pass. No, it was a peaceful journey; though I think we are all glad to be home at last.”

Legolas had slid from his horse's back to stand alongside Glorfindel, though somewhat hesitantly a step behind him. Gîl was still in his arms, for chaos had erupted in the courtyard with their arrival as Glorfindel's men also dismounted to greet family or friends.

“Greetings, Legolas.” Elrond gave him a smile, and Legolas tried his best to return it with confidence. “I see Gîlríon weathered his first journey well. I hope you are not too tired?”

“I'm not tired at all!” Gîl replied indignantly, and Elrond laughed.

“And how are you, Legolas? Did you enjoy the journey?”

“Yes, very much. The Golden Wood was beautiful, and the Lord and Lady were very kind. I also spent much time with Haldir and his brothers, who showed me their forest.”

Glorfindel turned and companionably rested a hand on his shoulder – a gesture, Legolas thought, that was probably also meant to demonstrate to all those present where he stood in his Lord's regard.

“They gave him a great gift as well. Not many of my warriors can boast of owning a bow of mallorn wood,” Glorfindel said casually, though at his words a great many eyes took in the bow of gleaming, golden wood that was strapped to Legolas' back.

“And there were other gifts, as I can see.” Elrond gave the diamond on Legolas' breast a thoughtful look.

“Finrod's golden diamond,” Legolas said with a hesitant smile. “The first gem he found when he delved near the Narog, or so I was told. It was a gift for our betrothal, as Lord Celeborn is kin to me, just as the Lady is my Lord's cousin.”

“It was a beautiful feast,” Glorfindel offered calmly, as if awaiting Elrond's reaction.

“So I have heard. My congratulations to the both of you.”

“Thank you.” Legolas smiled again, this time with relief. He did not think that Elrond lied, though there had been a slight hesitancy to his words. And of course, his Lord had warned him that not everyone would be happy about this development. Let these two talk it out between themselves later, then – for now, he was grateful for civility and politeness.

“Look at him - the lion of Imladris returned to us once more. And what a spectacle he makes of this; all puffed up with arrogance and self-importance!”

Legolas turned his head, shocked by the whisper. He met the gaze of Erestor, who narrowed his eyes at him, but seemed unconcerned by the fact that his words had been overheard. Legolas wondered if Glorfindel had heard also, but then realized that his Lord was still deep in conversation with Elrond.

“Glorfindel is a great man,” he said, meeting Erestor's eyes with what he hoped was courage, although he faltered when Erestor took a few steps towards him. He tightened his grip on Gîl in mute defiance. He would not show himself a coward in front of his son. ”He is twice the warrior anyone else here is! He does not deserve your scorn!”

“I see his arrogance has now spilled over to you as well. Do not feel all high and mighty just because you seduced him into giving you a ring, long after he fathered a child on you. Everyone here knows the truth of what you are; no one will ever forget that.”

“And what _is_ he, Erestor?” Glorfindel had moved as quickly as a striking snake, grabbing the front of Erestor's robe and pulling him close by it, then pushed him back in disgust. He took a step back himself and turned, his gaze sweeping over all the people who had gathered to welcome them; his expression was so furious that all talk fell silent. His hair was lifted by a gentle breeze, bright as molten gold in the sunlight, yet his eyes gleamed with the icy blue of a glacier's heart.

“I will tell you who he is; _all of you._ And you would do well not to forget! He is Legolas, Thranduil's son, Prince of the Great Greenwood, descended from the line of Elu Thingol – just as your Lord is, though I know that all of you pretend that is not true. He is now my betrothed, and we shall be wed beneath the stars in a year's time, when the apple trees bloom. He has given me the child I have long yearned for, as all of you know, and I pray that in time, we will be given more children.

“Yet if all of that does not suffice for you to give him the respect he deserves – if my love for him is not reason enough for you – then listen to what I tell you now, and listen well. Legolas has been exiled from the Greenwood, disavowed by his father. Thus he was free to swear an oath of fealty to a new lord. Legolas has sworn himself to me, and though we shall not be wed until next year's _ethuil_ , I will tell you who it is that stands before you.”

Glorfindel unsheathed his sword, and though he did not point it at Erestor, the threat in his gesture was obvious to all. “It is not Legolas Thranduilion who stands before you. _This is Legolas of the house of the Golden Flower._ He is of my house, and I protect what is mine! Those who disrespect him disrespect _me_ – think well on that before you seek to do him harm!”

After a moment, he sheathed his sword again, his eyes were still hard with determination. He stepped to Legolas' side once more and rested a possessive hand on his shoulder. No one dared to speak a word, not even Erestor, though he looked furious and was still trying to smooth his robe after Glorfindel's sudden attack.

Gîl was silent, too, yet Legolas could feel the tension in his small body. He smoothed a hand along his back, silently grieving, for he knew now that he could not spare him this. To see him grow up untouched by the hate and the darkness that had caused his conception and tainted so much of Legolas' time in Imladris had been a beautiful dream, but ultimately, it was impossible. Gîl was more than a child onto whom Legolas could lavish the love he had always yearned for himself. Gîl was also Glorfindel's son and heir. As such, he would always be touched by the politics that surrounded those of great power. It was time to accept this. Gîl needed to know these things, and as he grew up, he would need to learn how to navigate the treacherous currents of power and intrigue. It was a skill Legolas himself did not possess, but when he looked up at his Lord's face, he found an answering awareness there. They would have to talk with Gîl. He should at least have a rudimentary understanding of what caused all this. And at least he was yet young enough to be easily distracted with a horse, a kitten or a favorite story.

“Legolas is welcome in my house,” Elrond said at last, breaking the silence. “As your spouse, and as a member of your house. Furthermore, as you said, he is my kin. Whatever tension might have been between us because of your father's doings is forgotten, Legolas. Glorfindel is highly honored here – _and so is his family_. Any who say otherwise dishonor me as well.”

After a moment's silence, the chaos of their arrival, disrupted by Glorfindel's declaration continued; though Legolas was certain that the greetings exchanged between friends and families were now rife with speculation about him and his Lord as well. At least, he thought as he looked around himself, Glorfindel's men seemed to genuinely like him. Certainly they would tell their friends he was worthy of Glorfindel's name and love?

“Respect has to be deserved,” Erestor said with one last furious glare, uncowed by his Lord's presence by his side. “Do not look for respect from me, not for what you are. To earn respect, you have to do more than bear a child out of wedlock and indulge in acts of perversion until you are rewarded with a ring when it is already far too late for it to change anyone's opinion of you.”

Legolas bit his lip but refused to rise to Erestor's taunts, all too aware of Gîl's nervous tension, though he felt Glorfindel quivering with anger by his side. Yet before it could erupt, Arwen appeared at Erestor's shoulder, and though he looked just as furious as his Lord felt, she managed to lead him back into the house, though not before she sent a meaningful look to Glorfindel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _ethuil_ \- spring


	3. 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by Beruthiels Cat, thank you so much! :) *hugs*

Glorfindel opened the window and leaned out, taking a deep breath. “Home at last,” he sighed and looked out at his garden; shielded from the view of others by steep cliffs of stone. After the weeks just past, his garden was now a brilliant green as well, with the gold of celandine shining here and there beneath the trees.

An affectation, Erestor had once called them when Celebrían had laughed at how the flowers had only seemed to spring up after he moved to these generous quarters, and then had insinuated that Glorfindel had planted them himself in secret.

Glorfindel, of course, had done no such thing. He might have asked a gardener to plant a few for him in time, for he had taken on the golden flower as a sigil of his house out of a deep love for its beauty, and the return of the sun and life itself it had signified when he first reached the shore of Ennor so long ago. Yet the truth was that just as Celebrían had claimed, the golden flowers seemed to spring up in ever greater abundance with each succeeding spring he had spent here.

Soon, his garden would be a tapestry of green and gold, with flowers like stitchwork on a cloak of green velvet, and he allowed himself to dream for a moment of tumbling Legolas amidst the flowers; loving him while the sun warmed their skin and all around them, nature followed that same simple, beautiful urge.

~~~

“For all that he claims that he is not tired, he is now fast asleep.” Legolas smiled at him, that rare, sweet smile that was only for him, the one which transformed his entire person with its warmth and love. This was the man he would love until the end of Arda itself, Glorfindel thought, moving to brush a strand of hair out of his face while Legolas looked at him with perfect trust.

“There will be food in a couple of hours – a veritable feast, as I know Elrond, followed by an evening of song. Do you want to go?”

Legolas' smile widened. “I did not realize I had a choice, Lord!” he said somewhat teasingly, and Glorfindel laughed.

“In truth, I fear we have not. We should go, and bathe before. It would not be seemly to skip this dinner given for our return, and yet...”

“And yet you would rather spend the eve in our bed, making use of me until I am too exhausted to move for at least a week?” Legolas tried to appear innocent despite his words, but a flush began to heat his cheeks. Glorfindel laughed again, a breathless, somewhat surprised sound and took Legolas' face into his hands.

“Is that what you wish for?” Their faces were so close his breath ghosted over Legolas' lips, who trembled and gave him a look of helpless, overwrought surrender.

“I do, Lord...”

Glorfindel smoothed a thumb along a high cheekbone, felt Legolas' trembling intensify; his eyes dark and unfocussed with need. _This_ was power, Glorfindel thought, hardening with sudden lust as the awareness of his dominion over the youth swept through him with full force.

“Kneel,” he said, his voice soft but unmistakably commanding. Legolas slid to his knees immediately, looked up at him with those wide, worshipful eyes; breathless and trembling and wanting to please him so very, very much that for a moment, Glorfindel feared he would come at his first touch. Another image arose unbidden in his mind, the youth kneeling before him in the dirt of the courtyard; wet to the bone, shivering with fear and despair, thin and weak – a pathetic sight he had been and even so, the memory brought another jolt of arousal, just as it had then.

 _I am a bad, bad man._ It was not as if he did not regret what he had done; for even now, shame grew in him at the memory – and yet, alongside it came the heat of arousal at the power he had held over the youth.

Slender fingers fumbled at his breeches, clumsy with need, and then, _ah!_ that sweet, hot mouth, and Glorfindel buried his fingers in the silk of his hair, cursing at the perfect, sharp pleasure while before his eyes, a different memory rose; Legolas weeping, begging, ashamed and afraid at what he forced him to do, and his own merciless cruelty.

 _Not any better than an Orc._ His hands moved to cup Legolas' face once more, thumbs stroking his cheeks, feeling himself filling his mouth, and Legolas made a soft, wet sound of _need_ that suddenly pushed him over the edge. He moaned with surprised pleasure as Legolas swallowed all he had to give, as sweet and dutiful a lover as he could ever have dreamed of. He could taste himself in Legolas' mouth as he drew him up to kiss him, and that was arousing too, that and the way Legolas clung to him, yielding and willing, as intoxicating in his surrender as the very finest of his father's wines.

“Ah, Valar! They made you just for me, did they not?” He bit at Legolas' lips, wanting to bruise, to mark and possess. Legolas whimpered, giving in to his sudden cruelty as well, tilting his head so that Glorfindel could bite and suck at the tender skin of his throat.

“Eru!” Glorfindel swore again, breathless and wide-eyed himself as he pushed Legolas back. “Keep this up and I will take you right here, Elrond's dinner be damned!”

“Please, Lord! Oh please, please...”

Glorfindel groaned and silenced Legolas' helpless pleading with another kiss, then rigorously forced himself to ignore his once more rising arousal. “Calm yourself. I will not take you like this, not after I have had to wait for so long. And there is a bath waiting for us. The water will get cold if we tarry much longer...”

Legolas whimpered at his cruelty but did not protest; too well-trained to demand attention for his own need.

“Strip and get into the water,” Glorfindel commanded. “I will check on Gîl and join you in a moment. And if you dare to touch yourself, _roch neth_ , I will make good use of Haldir's little present and flog you until you will have to eat dinner standing up.”

Legolas bit back another whimper, looking even more aroused at his order. Glorfindel laughed softly at his plight, but otherwise ignored him to go and check on Gîl as he had said he would.

~~~

Legolas looked at himself in the mirror, then quickly looked away again; flushing with embarrassment at what he saw. He was still so hard that it took all his willpower to refrain from touching himself, and no matter that Glorfindel had seen and touched all there was of his body so many times, he still could not help but feel embarrassed when he was made to wait for Glorfindel like this, naked and needy.

It was embarrassing and also very, very arousing, he admitted to himself as he sank into the warm water. The truth was that he had missed Glorfindel's games. The journey had taken far too long. It was good to be home once more, especially when home was Glorfindel's luxurious suite of rooms. With a smile, he took in the perfectly arranged row of various oils and soaps, each in a small, crystalline phial that gleamed in a hundred different shades in the sunlight that fell through the open window.

He was just wondering whether he should add a scented oil to the water when his Lord strode into the bathroom, gloriously naked and already half hard again, so that Legolas had to bite his lip and lower his head to hide his smile. The journey had indeed been far too long – for the both of them.

“Come here,” his Lord commanded once he, too, had sunk into the water, and Legolas came eagerly to settle in his arms. His Lord's tub was generous; there was room enough for three, or, as Legolas could say from experience, room enough for two to pleasure each other in a hundred different ways.

For a while, Glorfindel simply held him, his hands slowly stroking up and down his flanks, his hips, then covering his stomach once for a short, wistful moment. Later, he was allowed to attend to his Lord and wash him with a soft cloth, which was always a joy. He could not help the way his heart beat faster every time he could so leisurely explore the broad, muscled chest, the firm stomach, the powerful thighs and that long shaft which had risen to new hardness at his touch. He pressed a kiss to where the strong heart beat beneath the golden skin; then he flushed and gave Glorfindel a hesitant look, a little uncertain whether that was allowed in the playful mood his Lord was in. His fears were put to rest when his Lord kissed him; yet he still refrained from further touches, despite Legolas' more than obvious need.

They washed each other's hair, afterward, and then stepped from the water. Glorfindel wrapped a large towel around Legolas and dried him, Legolas simply allowing himself to enjoy the sensation. _This_ was what it meant to be loved, he thought; to be enfolded in warmth and to be allowed to simply enjoy its embrace without having to worry about proving himself worthy all the time.

“Little beauty.” Glorfindel pressed a kiss to his neck that made him sigh with pleasure, then loosely braided his hair to keep it out of the way. Afterward, Legolas tried to turn in his arms, to offer his own services to dry his Lord's body, rub oil into his skin or do whatever else his Lord demanded – but it seemed as if his Lord had different plans for him.

“No,” Glorfindel denied him, and though his voice was gentle, there was a hint of something in it that made Legolas tremble. “Kneel.”

Legolas obeyed, a little insecure now, for he was not certain what it was his Lord had planned. He faced away from him, and then his Lord's hands came to rest on his shoulders, exerting gentle pressure until he found himself positioned on his hands and knees, dry-mouthed and aroused, his heart beating ever more quickly in his chest as he waited for what was going to happen.

For an endless moment, nothing did. He heard the sound of Glorfindel moving around, drying himself; even leaving the bathroom for a short time. Legolas did not dare move or even look to see what it was his Lord had done, and when Glorfindel at last returned to his side, he rested a gentle hand on his back for a moment, giving him a fleeting caress in reward.

“Now relax for me, sweet.”

His fingers were slick with oil and Legolas exhaled with arousal and relief when they began to open him up. _At last!_ He had half feared Glorfindel would leave him desperate until after Elrond's dinner...

Two fingers now, slowly working him open, penetrating him again and again until he whined at the teasing, tried to move back, to beg for more than just Glorfindel's fingers, but his Lord only laughed and gave him a little slap.

“Impatient. Did I not tell you to relax?”

Glorfindel's fingers left him, so that he whimpered in disappointment, but they were quickly followed by something else. Something cold and unyielding, forcing a sound of surprise from him while Glorfindel chuckled and made certain that whatever the object was, it was lodged securely inside him.

And then... Legolas whimpered again and shook his head, shocked and aroused and afraid, not certain what was happening to him. He felt warmth, something filling him, and Glorfindel gently rubbed his back to soothe him.

“Hush. Relax, like I told you. It is only water.”

“I... What...” Legolas trembled, not quite certain what he was asking, what his Lord was doing, but he was given no further answer; just his Lord's low, amused laugh.

“Shh. I'm here with you, my heart. Relax for me.” On and on it went, until he was certain he could not bear any more, trembling with the shocking, shameful arousal that had him hard despite the terrible embarrassment. At last, Glorfindel ceased and removed whatever it was he had used, only to quickly follow it up with something else – something just as unwieldy, something even bigger, so that Legolas moaned again in misery and arousal.

“Oh, no complaints now, _roch neth_. I am even bigger, and you never have any trouble taking _that_...”

Legolas let his head hang, blushing and feeling too hot and strange and oh, so embarrassed.

“Let us lie down for a while,” Glorfindel murmured, gently helping him up. Legolas tried not to whimper at how he felt – his Lord's new torture would kill him, he was certain of it. He felt too full, and at the same time, he was so very, very hard that he did not think he would survive if Glorfindel did not touch him soon.

Glorfindel nuzzled his hair and curled up around him once they reached the bed, holding him securely in his arms while Legolas rested on his side, trying to cope with the strangeness of it all. Glorfindel was calm and commanding but gave no explanations; so that Legolas had no choice but to yield to his will in this as in all other things. He was rewarded with endearments breathed into his hair, against his neck, while he shivered and wished that Glorfindel would touch him.

“Good, _roch neth_. Very good! Just relax and let me hold you.”

“I... I can't...” Legolas whimpered, and Glorfindel began to soothingly rub the slight curve of his stomach.

“Shh. It's not for long. You're so good and obedient, my heart... You're all mine, all of you. Can you feel it?”

“I'm yours, all of me... all yours,” Legolas moaned, giving in to the seduction of the strong body, the possessive hands, the beloved voice that whispered endearments into his ear. “I would do anything for you, Lord! Anything!”

“I know.” Glorfindel's words were interspersed with more kisses. “I know, _roch neth_. You are so good, so brave, you always are. And you always please me so much. My beautiful, brave Legolas!”

So often Legolas had been ashamed of crying, but he just could not help it. Tears came unbidden at Glorfindel's words – words he had hoped to hear his entire life and yet which were even now so hard to believe. He wept softly while Glorfindel kept touching him, gentling him with loving words and caresses through a cramp, slowly rubbing his stomach while Legolas tried to suppress the urge to plead with his Lord to let him go. Then, at last, his Lord's fingers wrapped around his shaft and he moaned with grateful need – only to exhale with shock when Glorfindel's other hand pressed suddenly hard against the curve of his belly and the water trapped within.

“Are you mine?” his Lord asked wickedly, smoothing his thumb over the slick head of his shaft, tormenting him with the pressure on his water-filled insides. “Is your body mine, to do with as I please?”

“I am yours!” Legolas sobbed, whimpered, pleaded. “I am yours, _oh sweet Eru, all of me is yours,_ do with me what you will, I only want to be yours, always, always, my Lord, oh _please!”_

Glorfindel only laughed at his breathless litany while Legolas shuddered all over. His seed fell in white jets over Glorfindel's hands while he continued to pledge his obedience, his devotion, his everlasting love in words he was not even aware of speaking. Glorfindel simply held him, safely ensconced in the love he so needed and waited until the youth had regained his breath. At last he allowed him to return to the bathroom and rid himself of the tormenting water. His smile widened when Legolas returned; pale, wide-eyed and still trembling with shock and fearful excitement.

“You are not tired yet, are you, _roch neth_? I have barely begun to play with you...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _roch neth_ \- colt


	4. Chapter 4

Glorfindel held a hand out to him in invitation, and Legolas eagerly sought the comfort of his arms once more, moulding himself against his Lord's body while he still felt so weak-kneed that he did not think he would make it to dinner without help.

“My dear, beautiful Legolas.” Glorfindel kissed him again, whispering more endearments, so gentle and caring that Legolas feared he would start weeping again. Why was it so difficult to believe that he had truly earned such praise when he had waited his entire life to hear it?

“My Lord,” he whispered, meaning it with all his heart. No wonder that he had thought Glorfindel one of the Valar when he had first stepped from the water, glorious like the sun. His Lord wore confidence like a cloak, arrogance like a crown. He could not pass for a mere man even if he tried; he was a man well used to commanding, and a part of Legolas had recognized it and desired it from the first time he had laid eyes upon him.

“You are so lovely.” Glorfindel drew a hand down his cheek, cupping his face. “I know you miss your home. I am sorry. I should not have taken that from you. But I promise I will make you happy.”

“I _am_ happy. What you do to me...” Legolas shook his head, still a little wide-eyed and shocked, but also languid with deep satisfaction. “Half the time I do not even know what it is you are doing to me, but you have given me so much, shown me so much... You truly know me better than I know myself. You always know exactly what it is I need. I have never been happier than I am now, here by your side.”

“And that is where you shall be until Arda is unmade.” Glorfindel underlined his words with a kiss, Legolas' lips eagerly parting beneath his, as sweet, as intoxicating as the finest mead. His hands slipped down Legolas' back, settling on his buttocks, and Legolas sighed with appreciation when Glorfindel drew him firmly against his body, his Lord's shaft hard and hot like a brand against his belly.

“Now. We still have some time until dinner. It will not begin before sunset.” Two fingers slid inside him once more, and Legolas bit his lip to keep from moaning while his Lord continued to talk as if he were not tormenting him simultaneously. “And once we retire to the Hall of Fire, I am certain that the music will last until after midnight.” A third finger now, and though Legolas still felt relaxed and open from what his Lord had done to him before, it was harder to take without additional lubricant. Then there was a pour of oil, warm and viscous, slowly dripping down his buttocks until Glorfindel smoothed it around him, inside him. Legolas moaned at the intimate touch. It was too early yet for desire to return, but he did not need to find pleasure himself to enjoy Glorfindel's possession of him.

“A pity Elrond decided to honor our return in such a way,” Glorfindel murmured into his ear while his oil-slick fingers easily moved in and out of Legolas. “After all, I did promise you that you would not be able to leave our bed for a week...”

Legolas made a sound of assent, even though he was no longer able to follow Glorfindel's words. His eyes fell shut and his mouth opened in a voiceless groan as he was penetrated by a fourth finger, stretched wide open while Glorfindel continued to whisper words into his ear he could no longer follow, though at last his Lord's voice had lost its playful detachment. Now Glorfindel, too, was breathless, and his hand gripped Legolas' hip tightly enough to leave bruises as he forced him to his back. Legolas' legs fell open, inviting Glorfindel to settle between them, but all his Lord did was to continue to widen him with his fingers until Legolas groaned and arched and began to beg for his Lord to take him. Legolas wanted it, needed it – that sweet, sweet burn and stretch of penetration, the heat of his Lord inside him, that soul-searing intimacy of feeling his Lord climax when they were skin to skin, heart to heart.

He tried to draw him down and against him, but his Lord pushed his arms away and laughed.

“Oh no, _roch neth_. You will take what I give you – will you not? What I give you, and what I give you alone, no matter when, no matter how.” The fingers on his hip relaxed, stroking him slowly, while his fingers _inside_ stroked as well, curling, massaging until Legolas was nearly incoherent from the intensity of it. Then, the pressure became impossibly _more_ , and Legolas' entire body shuddered, his mouth falling open as he was stretched past his limits, as he was truly _possessed_ in a way he had never been before. He wanted to whimper, to beg, to moan, but he had no voice, was so far past articulation that it felt like the terrible, burning stretch was the only thing still anchoring him to this world.

He could hear Glorfindel's voice. He knew his Lord was talking, was asking, but he was past understanding. All he could do was _experience_ , feel lust and desire rise off Glorfindel's skin like heat from the sun, and offer his own unquestioning surrender in return.

The pain _burned_ ; it felt as if Glorfindel would truly rip him apart, and yet, and yet, _oh Eru!_ even to this his body surrendered, and when the pain lessened all of a sudden and Legolas realized with wide-eyed disbelief that it was Glorfindel's _wrist_ he was feeling, he sobbed and came all over himself while his body trembled and shook.

Long heart-beats later, his sweat-slick body lay exhausted and still on the bed. Every now and then, a shudder ran through him when Glorfindel's fingers slowly moved and flexed inside him.

Inside him. Oh Eru, _inside him_...

He was hard again, had never even softened, was lost in a place of fire and heat and pleasure like molten lava, a place where there was no beginning and no end to his _hröa_ , a place where his Lord possessed him completely, where his fingers stroked him _inside and out_...

His Lord's fingers curled inside him, formed a fist, and he was so full, so incredibly full, that dark, terrible emptiness inside him gone at last, filled by his Lord, filled by warmth, heat, golden light, and he groaned and looked into his Lord's star-bright eyes, touched his own stomach, felt his Lord's hand curl _inside_ him and came again with almost-painful spasms, his body driven beyond the point where he had anything left to give.

…

His Lord was calling him. His Lord was calling, and Legolas had to answer.

“My Lord,” he said, and the words were sound, notes that swirled around him, through him like light, warm and sweet.

He could _see_ Glorfindel, he suddenly realized. Glorfindel shone like the sun, and when he spoke, his words were music, resonating with love, with warmth and unabashed passion.

All barriers were broken. He felt as if his _fëa_ were flying free, free from the restrictions of his _hröa_ – and Glorfindel's words were not sound, but pure thought, pure feeling.

This was mind-speech, he realized with awe, the light of his being creating ever more glorious harmonies as it mingled with Glorfindel's song.

Oh, this was wondrous! Not at all what talking to Galadriel had been like. She had been starlight and kindness mingled with strength, but although she, too, had spoken to him in a way far more immediate than speech, it had not been like _this_...

All his barriers broken down. All of him possessed, all of him held. All of him _loved_ , even that deepest, darkest place inside him that had been aching emptiness for so long...

Glorfindel's fingers moved inside him, Glorfindel's _fëa_ entwined with his own in braids of light, notes forming a song that was so glorious it threatened to shatter him and yet only ever lifted him higher, and then Glorfindel too broke, shattered, sending out coils of heat and lust and blinding pleasure that sank deep into Legolas' soul and drew him down to share in the furnace of molten gold that was his Lord's climax.

~~~

Glorfindel watched Legolas sleep. There was a stunned expression on his face, softened by affection and love. He had not planned on this.

Oh, it was obvious that Legolas had found pleasure in it. And yet, he could not help but think that it was too much, too soon. What sort of man was he that he lacked even the patience to let Legolas recover from the long journey before introducing him to _this_?

 _Have I truly no patience at all?_ he asked himself, and deep inside, he felt Legolas' quiet amusement, though the youth was still lost in reverie.

Glorfindel's expression softened further. That was one unexpected, but not unwelcome outcome of his unthinking forging ahead. The power of mind-speech came easier to those who had seen the light of Aman; easier still to one like himself who had experienced existence not as one of the incarnates, but as _fëa_ alone. For the children of Ennor, it took long years of experience before they could easily communicate in such a way, or so he had been led to believe, and it usually took the bonds of kinship, great affection or great urgency.

But then, Legolas too carried in his blood the touch of a Maia, and what they had done just now had surprised even himself with the intensity of feeling it had caused. Legolas, who was always so good, so obedient, had surrendered himself so completely that touching his soul had been as easy for Glorfindel as touching his sweat-slick skin.

And Legolas had reacted to that touch with such dear trust, with unfailing, unquestioning obedience, his own mind instinctively reaching out towards him with the sweet, fierce loyalty of a falcon returning to the hand of the hunter.

He sang while he watched Legolas sleep. He sang of his home, of verdant pastures where swift, strong horses played in the light of Laurelin, of lakes that gleamed like silver when the light of Telperion swelled, of running and riding and playing, of the freedom and the happiness that had been his childhood. He walked familiar paths again, rested beneath the cherry trees he last saw in another Age of the world, and in his sleep, Legolas walked by his side, sharing his Lord's memories of the home that lay on the other side of the sea.

Later, when Gîl stirred after his nap, Glorfindel left Legolas to his dreams and played with Gîl and his wooden horses and knights until the sun set, and it was time for dinner. He woke Legolas with a gentle touch to his shoulder, amused at his own unfailing reaction when the slender youth stirred and then sat, so that the blanket which had covered him fell to bare the beauty of his well-loved body to Glorfindel's appreciative gaze.

Forcing down the sudden twinge of lust, Glorfindel tenderly cleaned him with a soft, wet cloth, then made Legolas turn to his stomach to take a look at the small ring of muscle he had stretched to such an extreme. “I did no harm, did I?” he asked, and Legolas shook his head, only to hiss when he was penetrated by one of Glorfindel's fingers, covered in a healing salve.

“I am just... very sore,” Legolas admitted, then laughed softly. “But you did promise me to use me until I could not leave your bed for a week. I do believe you kept your promise this time.” There was the languor of deep satisfaction in Legolas' voice, and Glorfindel smiled to himself.

“You are unfit for dinner, in any case. I had food brought, using Gîl as an excuse for why we will not join them until later. Eat, and then sleep for another hour or two. We will join them in the Hall of Fire, curl up in a seat somewhere and listen to the music; I will ask no more than that of you today.”

~~~

He had thought that there was nothing sweeter than watching Legolas sleep, filled by the deep, languorous satisfaction of having loved well, and long, and deep.

Yet this, he thought, was just as sweet, if not even better. Resting with Legolas on a comfortable settee, to their left one of the fires that gave the large hall its name, so close to the music that people did not dare to strike up a conversation with them for fear of disturbing the artists. And of course, there was the knowledge that appealed to the baser part of his nature: the flush that colored Legolas' fair skin, the light in his eyes, the way he moved with unconscious seduction, a part of him still walking in the light that had enveloped them body and soul just a short while ago.

It was apparent to all that Legolas was his, Glorfindel knew, and as much as he was bent towards ensuring the youth's well-being alone today, a part of him enjoyed the thought of how everyone who glanced their way must become aware of just how well he had pleased Legolas.

He threaded his fingers through the youth's hair, pleased by the scent of his own soap on Legolas' skin. The music swelled around them, a sad song about Elwing's flight to the west sung by an apprentice harper who had not yet learned that an overabundance of emotion might bring about the opposite of what he was hoping to achieve. And yet, the words and melody were familiar, and despite his youth the young artist had talent enough to paint vivid scenes with his voice – the stark, white cliff, the jump, then flight. An endless stretch of roaring sea, and then, at last, when hope seemed lost, her love regained, the coast rising in the west before them so that Glorfindel closed his eyes, lost in sudden longing when he sought out the familiar landmarks.

The song ceased, but while the last chords reverberated, Glorfindel held on to the vision, following the heartbreakingly familiar path with Legolas' quiet wonder by his side. The isle of Tol Eressëa; the bay of Eldamar. The high cliffs of the Pelóri rose around them, then the way through the Calacirya, and there, Tirion upon Túna as he had last seen it an age ago, so changed from the city of his youth... How further changed would it be once he returned a second, final time? Onward his mind flew, passing grassy plains, creeks and a river, valleys and hills until it rose before him like a memory of all that had been bright and good about his childhood.

 _Home_ , his heart whispered to Legolas, aching with yearning at the sight of the carved door of white wood, willing it to open, praying with all his heart for one single glimpse of his mother, his father – but the music stopped and the vision vanished like mist in the sunlight, though Legolas remained at his side, silent with awe.

Far, far to the west, Istime opened the door to look at the empty courtyard, her own thoughts flying to the east, past the sundering sea, sending one small, brief touch of warmth to the soul of her son and the one that was joined to him by bonds of love.


	5. Chapter 5

Warmth. Yearning. Such tender caring and love...

Legolas would have known instantly that this was Glorfindel's mother, even if he had not heard Glorfindel's breathless _Mother!_ in his heart. The depth of her emotion mirrored his own feelings for Gîl, and at the same time made him fleetingly think of his own mother, whom he had never known, and who had not wanted to know him either.

He raised a hand to his Lord's face, feeling his disbelieving shock and the surge of love and longing in Glorfindel's heart. "But how is this possible?" he asked softly, eyes wide with wonder.

"I do not know. It has not happened to me before." Glorfindel closed his eyes for a moment as if to call back that all-too-brief touch, then opened them again to gaze into Legolas' eyes. "No. You made it possible. You and the love I bear you. She knew you - I could feel it. The moment she touched my soul, she also touched yours. She knows that I have finally found the one who holds my heart."

"She must be a great woman, to have such a valorous son."

"She is. And I know she loves you already, for bringing me such happiness."

Glorfindel drew him even closer, and Legolas rested in his embrace while another musician sat down at the great harp. His Lord made use of the new connection between them to whisper words of praise and love directly into his heart, and Legolas, shy and yet insecure of his new abilities, tried to reciprocate. They shared a cup of spiced, heated mead between them, and when the harpist ceased at last, they decided to move to an alcove further down the hall, where their friends could talk to them if they so desired.

It took not long at all until the first of Glorfindel's men joined them. Fairion immediately took advantage of the free seat that was left, wrapping a companionable arm around Legolas.

"We did not see you at dinner," he teased. "Do not tell me that after that long journey with nought but dried provision or barley stew, you did not look forward to course after course of trout and boar and goose?"

"We ate in our rooms," Legolas said with a smile.

"Gîl was fractious - we could not leave him alone." Glorfindel's smile was just a little too smug to be believed.

"Of course," Fairion said and grinned. "Not that I am blaming you. I would have done the same, if Laindir and I only had such a good excuse."

Legolas' cheeks heated at the teasing, but he could not help but smile when he thought of what very good use Glorfindel had made of the past few hours. "But you will have time to yourself now, won't you?"

"Indeed; a fortnight off in exchange for the journey. We will use it well; we plan to go fishing and hunting, and visit my sister at her homestead for a few days."

"If Glorfindel and Gîl can spare you, you could join us for the hunt, if you like,” Laindir added. “There is that beautiful bow of yours that needs proper breaking in."

Though Legolas tried not to show it, he glowed with joy at the question. "I would like that! Very much, though I fear my bowmanship might disappoint you. If my Lord allows, that is?"

Glorfindel made a show of thinking it through, but then quickly relented. "Of course," he said tenderly. "As long as it is not for more than a day."

"Oh, we would never keep him from you for an entire night," Fairion said with a grin.

"You would be a bad substitute for my Lord in any case." Legolas smile widened when Fairion and Laindir laughed.

Companionship and gentle teasing - who would have thought that he would have such a thing one day? Certainly not Legolas, whose happiness at being included so easily knew no bounds. Glorfindel could keep neither eyes nor hands off him, which was such a pleasant feeling, barring even the smallest fear of displeasing his Lord somehow from blossoming, and Legolas in turn entwined his fingers with Glorfindel's in love and pride, twin rings of silver gleaming in the fire's light.

"It is decided then – we will steal him from you for a day, and bring him back safely before sunset, sometime during the next week. Let us see what Haldir's bow can do. I have never had the honor of handling a bow of the Galadhrim myself. They do not often give them as gifts.”

“Not to you, in any case. That kind of bow only goes to those worthy of bearing them.”

Legolas looked up at the new arrival. It was a woman, and one he had not met before – certainly not one of Arwen's handmaidens, who had accompanied them on the journey back to Imladris. The woman had long brown hair held out of her face by two small braids which were decorated with golden clips in the form of birds. The long-sleeved dress she wore was not made from silk or velvet, but a more sensible blue linen, though of a very fine weave, and hems and neckline were embroidered with more birds in thread of gold.

“Captain,” she said with a smile, “it is good to see you back. We worried Fairion and Laindir would make fools of themselves among the Galadhrim, and be pressed into their service in reparation. And who would have relieved our patrol then?”

Glorfindel laughed. “As if I would ever let that happen. No, I found a far better punishment. Those who displease me must from now on entertain Gîl while I am busy with other things.”

Fairion barely held back a snort, and Legolas flushed a little when he realized what those other things had been so far. The woman only raised a brow at Laindir, though, and then nodded at Legolas. “Well met, prince. I do not think we have met before. We are usually too busy to attend Elrond's fancy eves of music – though if you want to visit, I can promise you ale and wine and livelier songs in the barracks.”

“That's Itaril, one of my lieutenants,” Glorfindel explained to Legolas.

The woman laughed at his words. “Ereth, in truth.”

“But we all call her Itaril,” Glorfindel continued, his smile widening. “Shall we tell him how you came by that name?”

“It is the mark of a bad captain to embarrass one of his own lieutenants in such company.”

Glorfindel laughed. “Ah, but it is such an adorable story.”

Her lips twitched. “And yet I am no adorable woman.” She turned to look at Laindir with a raised brow, who quickly tried to smother his own grin, before facing Legolas again. “However did you wind up with one like Glorfindel? He will torment you mercilessly, I am sure. I always hoped he would wind up with a half-orc – that is surely what a man of his disposition would deserve? Instead he found himself a beautiful prince, and I...”

“You wound up with a goat-herd.”

“Indeed.” Itaril laughed. “The Valar's blessings are unfathomable. Never mind your Lord's ill manners, Legolas, the bows of the Galadhrim are beautiful work. I have long coveted them myself. I am too busy with the patrols to deal with our ill-mannered youth on a regular basis, but if you would like to work on your archery skills while I am not busy, I would be glad to assist.”

Legolas smiled, somewhat overwhelmed, although as usual their banter left him yearning to belong. “I would like that. I fear I am not very skilled yet. If my Lord agrees, that is?”

As soon as he spoke, he felt the familiar shame well up at his never-ending hesitancy. It was no wonder everyone thought him a coward, or little more than a pretty plaything without a thought of his own in his head. And yet, what if his quick agreement to the offer _did_ somehow displease his Lord? Pleasing his Lord was even more important to him than belonging, than having friends. He knew he would not be able to bear it should he ever disappoint Glorfindel in any way.

Did anyone else ever feel as he did, he wondered, so torn and afraid at the smallest question? None of his Lord's men did, certainly, nor did Itaril.

“She is very good with a bow – much better than I am.”

Itaril grinned at Glorfindel's answer. “You lack patience. Everyone knows that; even your prince, I am certain.”

“Legolas, on the other hand, is patient, and a good student; he is attentive and willing to learn.” Warmth filled Legolas' heart at Glorfindel's words, and he vowed silently to himself that he would do his best to show himself worthy of his Lord's praise. “Of course I agree; she will make a very good teacher for you. And the Galadhrim truly do not give their bows to those undeserving of such an honor.”

“Then it is decided. Let the captain determine times for us to meet. He knows my schedule; after all, he sets it up. It was a pleasure to meet you, Legolas. Do not forget that Glorfindel is well-beloved here. None of us who love the captain are pleased by those who try to cause pain to you or your son.”

Itaril clasped Legolas' shoulder, who smiled at her. He still felt somewhat overwhelmed by her air of easy confidence, even though she was the only woman among Glorfindel's warriors, but he was so pleased too by how she had treated him. _As if I belonged..._

The rest of the evening went very well. Near midnight, Lindir sang, an imposing figure clad in purple and golden silk and who stood tall and slim, decorated with pearls and gems and golden rings on every finger that flashed in the fire's light as he played the harp. His voice was sweet and carried widely as he sang of the birth of the stars such a long time ago, the same stars that even now gleamed against the sky's vast darkness, and Legolas had to fight tears at the emotions that rose at the way sadness and hope mingled in Lindir's voice.

Perhaps, he thought, the Valar had not forgotten him after all. Perhaps they would lighten the darkness inside him as well and show him the way out of the maze that had trapped him for most of his life.

Glorfindel's arm was wrapped around him and Legolas concentrated on his warmth; on that incredible, impossible closeness he had experienced this evening when Glorfindel had broken through the last barriers of his soul, of his body.

 _I love you_ , he thought, afraid, as always, that his helplessness and fear would cause revulsion, as it always had.

 _Legolas of the house of the Golden Flower_ , reverberated in his mind, and once more he was engulfed by the golden sunlight of the courtyard as Glorfindel gave him a name, gave him a home for all to hear.

He yearned towards it with the instinctive need of a thirsting animal and Glorfindel's hand gently brushed his hair.

 _Yes_ , Glorfindel agreed silently. _More. There will be so much more. Do not be afraid. I will give you what you need._

Legolas thought of the flogger. _Yes_ , he thought, afraid and not, fearing pain, yearning for that sweetest of states where his soul at last found peace from all his fears and doubts in the service he could give his lord, in the surrender of all he was.

 _Yes. All of it, Lord. All of it._

~~~

Glorfindel woke with a smile. The first thing he saw, once his mind returned from the beautiful visions that sleep by Legolas' side always granted him, was sunlight playing on bare skin.

Legolas stood in the open door that led into their garden. He wore nothing but the golden light of the sun that caressed him with the same possessive love Glorfindel felt. It was gleaming on the flawless, silken skin, caressing the perfectly rounded buttocks, glistening in the fair tresses that were stirred by the spring breeze that carried the scent of flowers into their bedroom.

“I am truly blessed by all the Valar,” Glorfindel said and smiled when Legolas turned. “You are so lovely. Eru must have shaped you into the embodiment of beauty itself with his own hands. Are you certain that you are not a Maia, taking form to teach us to appreciate beauty above all else?”

Now Legolas blushed, though Glorfindel was pleased to note that for once, he did not protest at the praise. Glorfindel's eyes lingered on the golden curls, the beautiful length of flesh that slowly began to harden at his gaze, inviting him to touch, to caress, and still Legolas stood in the golden sunlight, his cheeks heating but otherwise, at last, no longer trying to hide from his open appreciation.

“Do you feel well rested?” Glorfindel asked, his voice deepening so that Legolas shivered and submissively lowered his eyes.

“Yes, my Lord.”

Glorfindel smiled. The small pieces of emerald flashed when they caught a stray ray of sunlight, drawing his gaze to the golden bars that pierced the youth's tempting red nipples.

“Good. We have plans today. This morn, we will visit the armory.”

“The – the armory, Lord?” Legolas looked up again, so surprised by Glorfindel's words that he forgot his sweetly enticing display of shy submission. Glorfindel's smile widened.

“The armory. We shall look at swords, and spears, and perhaps some old armor of mine...”

“As you wish, Lord.”

There was surprise on Legolas' face and little of his earlier arousal left, but Glorfindel knew that could be remedied by little more than a single word from him, said in the right tone.

 _Kneel_ was one such word he could have used. Said sternly, the youth would fall to his knees, give him a wide-eyed look, lips parting with mingled fear and excitement.

“Come here,” he said instead, holding out his hand and looking at Legolas with all the love and adoration he felt. He had plans indeed for the day, and there would be another chance to savor Legolas' sweetly offered submission. For now, he had a warm, soft bed after their long travel, a morning of golden sunshine and spring flowers, a luxurious breakfast that would soon await them in their dining room, and a beloved who had surrendered the entirety of his being to him the day before. Glorfindel looked at Legolas with reverence. He was still framed by golden light, as if Eru himself was bathing him with his blessing, with his love.

Glorfindel shivered when he thought of that impossible moment when Legolas gave himself over to him, when his hand sank inside him to the wrist, when he could feel the heat of the youth's body, that fragile construction of flesh and skin and blood which he could destroy with one unguarded motion, that swell of power like an undeniable wave, as if he could just push deeper and deeper into the youth's spread open body until he could hold his heart in his hand...

“Never deny that this is good. Never deny that this is true,” he said as Legolas slowly came towards him. “This. Your body. All it can give you: touch; taste; pleasure; pain. This is what Eru created the _hröa_ for: to _feel._ To love, _fëa_ to _fëa_ , is sweet. To love with _hröa_ – _that_ is what we were intended for. Enjoy your body, Legolas. Enjoy what pleasure it brings you. Enjoy what pleasure it brings _me_.”

 _To be where there was thought, but not sound. Love, but not touch...._

A part of Glorfindel remembered it well, although now that his _fëa_ and _hröa_ were in inseparable unity once more, to be one but not the other was again inconceivable – as it should be.

All Glorfindel remembered was the sense of wrongness that never abated, his _fëa_ 's never-ending need for his _hröa_. To be one, to be as he was meant to be, to _experience_ once more...

He pulled Legolas onto the bed, rolled them over until Legolas rested beneath him, golden hair spread out like finest silk, the luscious mouth aching for a kiss.

“ _This_. Do you feel how right it is? Do not listen to men like Erestor. Long before you were born, Eru crafted you in his thoughts to such overwhelming perfection. Never feel shame in how you were made, in how you feel pleasure.”

He kissed Legolas, ground against him, let him feel his own desire and rising lust, and gloried in it.

 _This_ he thought again and closed his eyes, pulsing against Legolas' shaft as he drove his thought into him, penetrating the youth's _fëa_ with the same ease with which he had possessed the yielding body countless times.

 _This_ , and Legolas shattered too, grasped at his hair, his shoulders while the intense light of Glorfindel's _fëa_ filled all the darkness within him, their pleasure melting and melding like red-gold metal in the forge.


End file.
